


Monsters in Common

by Fen_Assan



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Geralt is PISSED, Geralt is romancing neither Yen nor Triss, Lore - Freeform, Monsters, Romance, Velen (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Assan/pseuds/Fen_Assan
Summary: He kills most. He spares some. It makes sense for a Witcher to think about monsters so much. But this woman's fascination with monsters makes no sense at all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	Monsters in Common

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts while Geralt is looking for Ciri in Velen, but it's not a retelling of the game and won't have the main quest line at its focus. I want to tell a story of an original character and her connection to Geralt. Some main characters will be making an appearance, some quests/parts of the canon might get slightly changed. The story's going to be a bit dark, but I'll squeeze some fluff into it too. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Geralt placed the skulls into a sack. There was nothing else in the hut worth his attention: neither a useful item he'd have no scruples about looting, nor another trace to further his investigation. He was now certain that both the dug up graves and the boy's disappearance were the work of this hut's sole inhabitant. He'd seen some beggartick blossoms on his way here. Their crushed petals, ready for brewing the necrophage oil, would be blood-red. The colour much more vibrant and alive than the blood of the grave hag they would help kill. And the skulls in his sack would help lure her out. None of it would bring the boy back though. 

The old wood creaked as he pushed the lopsided door open. He blinked. His eyes only needed an instant to adjust to the bright daylight after the dimness of the hut, but that moment was enough for a young woman to startle him. 

Fuck. This was not supposed to happen to a Witcher. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly, walking towards Roach to tie the sack to the saddle. Having something immediate to do helped hide his unease. Since the woman seemed to ignore his question, he went for a statement instead. "You're from the village. I've seen you around." 

"Yes," she said simply, raising an eyebrow at the clanking of the skulls in the sack. "What have you there?" Geralt frowned. If she felt like questioning a Witcher, she might just get what she was not ready to hear. And he was not everyone's wet nurse, so protecting her from her own curiosity was not his business. 

"Human skulls." He tightened the rope and patted Roach's neck. 

"What for? Bait?" There was a twinkle in the woman's grey eyes. Of interest? That could be a dangerous curiosity indeed, Geralt thought. The woman seemed not at all bothered by who those skulls had belonged to. Highly unusual. Unless she was after revenge on some of the missing villagers... 

"Why would you think that?"

"You're a Witcher. You're hunting the graveyard monster. This gotta have something to do with that." She approached Roach, unbidden, but the mare started nodding her head and snorting appreciatively at the woman's touch. The woman smiled. She was not pretty, not really, but a smile made her angular face softer. Geralt was not one to tell a woman she should smile more often, but the annoying advice seemed true for this one. A smile tempered her pronounced, nearly masculine jawline, and drew attention away from her broad forehead. "Or it could be any number of other cases," she went on. "By Melitele, we've enough monsters 'round here." 

"You sound calm about that. Not afraid of monsters?" Lack of fear of monsters, despite common belief, was rarely a sign of bravery, but mostly of stupidity. She shook her head as she walked around Roach. Her long thin braid slithered along her back like a snake in shallow water. 

"Anyone with half their wits about should be afraid of monsters. I've just… seen a lot. And when you've seen as many as folk here in Lindenvale, you get sort of used to them." She shrugged. 

"Hm." There was a truth to it, Geralt knew. He had noticed that the locals were definitely worried about the missing villagers and those strange tracks in the woods and the dead animals. But they were not terrified as people in other places would be under the same circumstances. "Gotta go to the cemetery," Geralt said by way of a goodbye as he mounted Roach in one swift move and gave her a squeeze with his legs to get her going. The woman did not budge, but her question made him turn Roach around to face her again. 

"May I come with?" His steely stare did give her pause, but only for a second. "I was going there anyways," she added as if that made it perfectly alright for her to join him.

"No," he rasped, shaking his head. "Not now, not until I'm done there and certain there's no threat."

"That's mighty valiant of you, but…" Geralt did not let her finish. At the gentle pressure of his calves and heels Roach turned and started picking up her pace. 

"I'm not about to lose my pay for the contract by letting another villager get killed." His uncivil remark left her unperturbed. 

"A professional to be respected." She shouted at his back. He could hear the smile in her voice. "Good luck."

***

Geralt bared his teeth in a scowl. The deep scratch from the hag's claws was more of an annoyance than serious injury. It meant he would have to mend his armour, again. This village was turning out to be more troublesome - though more profitable - than he had anticipated. He altered his stance, protecting the scratch which became his vulnerable spot.

The necrophage turned even more vicious now, unnerved by her own injuries. She knew she was fighting for her life. It took a fraction of a moment while Geralt was turning for her to lash out at his face with her ugly long tongue. He had made the mistake of being struck by a grave hag's tongue before, and did not plan on becoming temporarily blinded again. He dove low, then spun around. Claws clanged, scratching uselessly at the silver sword as he parried.

Moonblade sang as a steady hand whirled it in a wide arc, and then made a dull, unsavoury sound as it fully met flesh, or what counted for it on a grave hag. With the crunch of her pierced chest she was done for, but to make sure, Geralt threw his left palm up and arranged his fingers in the shape of Igni. The fire caught immediately on the flesh which had been rotting even during its owner's life. That last twitch was a matter of reflexive muscle movement, nothing more. He would have to put out the fire before harvesting some parts off the monster for his concoctions. But for now, he let the vile thing burn. 

"I told you to stay away," Geralt spat angrily as he wiped his sword with a tuft of grass. What the fuck was wrong with some people? Did they have a death wish? The woman he'd been talking to by the hag's hut was standing just behind the cemetery's low stone wall, watching him - or rather watching the remains of the hag. 

"Is it safe now?" She ignored both his comment and his anger. Geralt scoffed. Fuck that. He should just let people do what they wanted sometimes. He could not save everyone. It was not even his job. 

"Yeah. What, you wanted a closer look at the monster?" he asked derisively. To his surprise, her face lit up with a smile, eyes bright. 

"Could I?" It was notable that she was already climbing over the wall while asking. She hiked up her skirts and with practiced ease stepped up and jumped down, showing strong shapely legs for a moment. The action was done so naturally it did not seem to be conceived as the least bit seductive. 

She approached the still burning corpse and lifted the back of her hand to her eyes. Geralt was curious to note it was a purely practical gesture as the vile smoke was stinging even his eyes a bit now. 

"What a stench," she muttered, gasping for air, her throat moving visibly despite her trying to conceal the gagging.

"Yeah. Normal as grave hags go." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Look, you're… strange. I don't know why you want to look at a dead monster - and I don't care. I'll just be civil enough and warn you that I'm gonna chop its head off. So you stay or leave but don't puke on me."

"I'll try not to," she said seriously, not taking her eyes off the grave hag. Geralt pulled his trophy knife from his boot, throwing and catching it in the air in a half-showy and half-focusing gesture before sinking the blade into the neck to the creak of broken vertebrae. 

"I'm Magda, by the way," the woman squatting by his side said and wiped the gore off her cheek. 

***

Magda did not puke. In fact, she watched him sever the head, which he then further rid of one ear, quite unflinchingly. She had probably grown up on a farm as most around these parts, and seen her share of blood and death, but still, Geralt found her fascination a bit unnerving. And fascinated she clearly was. She looked as if trying to see deeper, to figure something out in that heap of already decomposing flesh. Was she wondering why the hag had chosen the people from her village? Had she lost someone to a monster, and could this be her unhealthy coping mechanism? 

Geralt shook his head as he stoppered the vial full of monster's saliva with a cork. He was overthinking it. Besides, who cared why a stranger was behaving strangely. Not him. 

He contradicted his own thoughts with his very next question. 

"What were you doing here?" Stupid question to ask someone about visiting a cemetery at any time, but in the No Man's Land ravaged by war, with monsters prowling seemingly in every thicket around here, it was doubly so. At the least. And she knew that, and, judging by the look she shot him, was not about to let it slide. 

"At the graveyard you mean? Well, just as any other folk, looking around, enjoying the views. Wondering if a monster is about to snatch someone else. Wondering whose grave will become empty. Wondering whose empty grave will have to be used for someone new." She sounded harsh, but at the end of her tirade she just shrugged her shoulders and grimaced: her left eyebrow and the left corner of her mouth twitched up to show… scepticism? As if what he had asked about was a terrible situation, and the question itself was irritating, but there was no real harm done. 

"Sorry." He sighed. To say he had been at odds with everyone around him and himself lately would be putting it mildly. Ever since he’d met Yennefer after years apart and received none more from her than icy stares and colder words; since he’d learnt that Ciri could be somewhere near but pursued by the Wild Hunt, he had been on edge. And most things he'd seen around did not fill him with warm fuzzy feelings either. The only thing fuzzy lately had been the mould on the walls of the ransacked hut he’d been sleeping in. The Lindenvale innkeep had at least promised him a room, as soon as some Nilfgaardian guests departed. Fuck, he was tired. And he felt like he was being a jerk towards this woman for no good enough reason. Magda, he remembered. 

"Have you lost someone… recently?" He asked, pocketing his alchemical ingredients and shoving the hag's remains to the side with his boot. He’d burn them completely to clean up the mess. Magda twitched just a little as the hag's lifeless arm rolled over the headless body before catching the flames again. She nodded. 

"Not what you think though. 'Twas my nan. She wasn't killed by monsters, just died of old age. Doesn’t make it much easier. She raised me." 

"Hm." In the last few weeks he'd seen men, women and children die, and he knew he would see more. It was the one certainty amidst a war. So mourning a stranger's grandmother who had apparently lived to ripe old age and had probably enjoyed her life and love of her grandchildren, seemed two-faced and meaningless. And yet, he did feel some sympathy when he said, "Sorry for your loss. Her grave…" He trailed off, unsure if he should go on asking or just shut up. Unsure why he was speaking to this Magda at all when he had a trophy to trade for coin. He rubbed at his left temple. "Not disturbed?" 

Magda shook her head. The grave hag had dug up several recent graves and Geralt had witnessed the relatives' doubled grief and misery, so this was a tiny relief. 

"She lies inside."

"Chapel burials are usually only for the most valued members of the community. I guess your nan is sorely missed by many," he said lamely. Magda snorted a laugh. 

"She was not a favourite, far from it. But she'd come from… not a farm girl, anyway. She'd helped build a third of this village. She'd earned their respect, grudging though it was." She shrugged again, finally stood up from her crouching pose and dusted her skirts. "It's 90 days today since she died. I was going to light a candle. Wanna come with?" This was likely the weirdest invitation Geralt had ever received, and he was no stranger weird. To his own surprise, he nodded, and followed Magda to the small chapel. 

He’d been inside before to investigate back when he’d just accepted the contract. He hadn’t paid attention to who the occupants of the chapel were. But he’d noticed the quiet and stillness of the place. As then, there were now candles of all sizes burning in front of the roughly carved statue to Melitele. As he stood motionless, not taking his eyes off it in a state of half-trance, he felt a kind of calm for a brief moment. He needed it. It'd be smart to meditate, soon. 

Magda lit a tall thick candle off a barely flickering stub in front of Melitele's statue, held the opposite side of the candle over the flames to start it melting, and placed it on a stone nearby, gluing the melted base to its surface. This way it would not fall down from a gust of wind. Smart. Practical. Gentle? Magda picked up the dried flowers off the stone, wiping the surface with the palm of her hand. 

"I'll bring you new ones later, nan. There's honeysuckles in the meadow you liked." Geralt felt like he was definitely intruding and certainly did not want to be there anymore. He shifted his weight. Cleared his throat. Nodded in the general direction of the dead. Then turned around and left. 

He stood outside in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. He was sore and the scratch on his ribs pulled and asked for attention. It was time to get his coin and maybe ask about a room again. He did deserve some better rest in between contracts. Especially seeing that he had two more already waiting. 

Madga's steps were quiet behind him, but not unnoticeable. He wondered again how she had managed to surprise him earlier by the grave hag's hut. 

"Michal's usually at home this time of day. Know which house?" She asked, swatting a wasp away from her face as if it was merely a fly. 

"Who?" He had no idea what she was talking about. 

"The gravedigger. He'll pay you for that," she pointed at the grave hag's head tied to Roach's saddle. Flies were starting to swarm around the mare, it was time to move on. 

"Yeah," he said, rubbing at his scalp. "No. Don't know which house." She nodded and started walking towards Roach. It apparently meant she was going to show him, although she said no such thing. He followed.

"He won't want the head though." Her tone and her gestures gave the impression she wanted to add something else but was debating whether to do it. As if she was arguing with her common sense. "What do you normally do with the…?"

"Trophies? Sell if the contract givers don't want them." 

"Who buys them?" There, the bizarre fascination was back, betrayed by the glint in her eye, and the complete disregard of where she was stepping. She almost put her foot into a pile of Roach's manure. Reflexively, Geralt halted her with his hand rather than words. She did not twitch at his hand grabbing her forearm, only her eyes rounded briefly. She looked at his gloved hand, probably thinking of the stains the dirty glove would leave, then at the horse shit on the ground, then at his face and then his hand again which now hung at his side. She smirked and shrugged. 

Magda stopped next to Roach, patting the mare's behind. Geralt realised that because of her he was going to have to walk to the village instead of riding. He did not feel like offering her a seat behind him. 

"How much are you asking?" Magda asked, finding her place on Roach's other side as Geralt started walking the horse down the path off the hill. 

"What?" Either it was fatigue making a dimwit out of him, or this village woman was more indecipherable than a sorceress. 

"For the head," she clarified as if this was no big deal. Maybe it wasn't. After all, the answer to her question they'd both forgotten, was that various people wanted a Witcher's trophy. Some alchemists or herbalists might want to try and extract some other ingredient Geralt had had no need for himself. Some would want to display it. To brag, depending on how far their stupidity stretched or their balls hung. Brag about seeing a monster slayed, helping slay a monster, or vanquishing it and sinking their own hunting knife into its neck to cut the head off. Geralt had heard them all, the stories of those wannabe heroes, wannabe Witchers, who mostly just wanted to impress enough women that there was a chance for them to get laid. 

Now why did _she_ want a head of a monster? He did not seem to show any alchemical knowledge, and he believed displaying a grave hag's head would hardly help her win a beau. 

"Dunno," Geralt rasped. "Must give it to whatshisname first." She nodded.

"'Course. Michal won't want it though. I know him. You might wanna plan ahead." Geralt sighed. He was going to need a good swig of Temerian rye tonight. In fact… 

He pulled out a flask from the saddlebag and drank a few long gulps.

"Thirsty," she commented without any evident disapproval. 

"For disinfection," he said. She smirked audibly and nodded. He stopped and turned to look at her over Roach's neck. "30 orens." It was more than an average trophy buyer would ever offer - or what an average villager would be able to afford. Geralt was not even sure why he'd named such a price.

"Hm," she said, deep in thought, and offered no further comment. So this was a good way to make her stop talking after all. At least that worked for a few minutes until they reached the village grounds. "Over there, second house on the left. Name's Michal." It was annoying she thought he had already forgotten the gravedigger's name again. Also, he had, so this was a welcome reminder, but he was not about to admit that. Ne nodded. Because nods don't have to mean much at all. 

Magda tutted at the sight of a middle-aged woman in tattered but unusually fine clothes standing alone crying. 

"I'll go see about Dolores. Looks like she's been kicked out again."

"What's that about?" He asked completely despite his will and better judgement. He had enough on his plate as it was. He mumbled a curse.

"She's returned here recently after her husband died, but the old manor's in trouble. Infested with monsters, I hear." She gave him a clear look at that but refrained from suggesting this might be his responsibility. He wondered if she'd led him towards this Dolores on purpose. "She's been staying with everyone here for some time now, but people get tired of putting up with someone not their family, I guess. It's hard to feed just your own these days." Geralt sighed an annoyed loud sigh, definitely for show. 

"Alright. I'll go see Michal and then talk to Dolores. Happy now?" 

"Why should I be happy about that?" She asked with all the reason on her side. He shook his head. 

"See you."

The exchange with Michel did not take long. He got his money, imparted the sad news about the missing boy. Kept the trophy that the gravedigger promptly refused. Fuck, but this had been a long day. There better be a room for him at the inn. He had enough money now to get a proper meal and get some repairs done with the local smith. And get a bottle of something or other to boot. 

Magda was consoling the crying older woman when he approached. Dolores wiped her eyes with a handkerchief that had seen better days but had kept the lace and the elegantly stitched monogram D.R. 

"This is the Witcher I told you about," Magda introduced. 

"Geralt of Rivia."

"Dolores Reardon.” The woman’s hair had gone completely grey, but her face did not look very old. She must’ve had a comfortable life before this. “Will you help me get my estate back? I have an heirloom hidden there you can have for your reward. Or anything else you find there really. It is yours." This might end up being a very generous fee - or a meager one, depending on how much success looters had had with the monsters. When Geralt asked about what it would leave her with, she insisted she only wanted a roof over her head in her elder days. 

"I'll help you take care of those monsters. Just not immediately. I'd already accepted contracts that I have to deal with first." 

"I understand," she whispered, lowering her head and starting to cry all over again, leaving Geralt at a loss. Then he remembered. 

"I can give you some money," he paused, seeing her gaze become suddenly haughty, and corrected himself, "lend you some money for a room at the inn or with some villagers so you have someplace to sleep until I take care of your family home."

"This is generous, but I couldn't accept it. The inn is full of Nilfgaardians and there won't be any rooms there for weeks it seems." Fuck. "And I couldn't offer someone money now after I didn't offer any to those who took me in before. That wouldn't be fair." Geralt nodded. Well, he tried. There was nothing else here for him. Nothing but a return to the lovely mouldy hut he'd claimed. At least he'd go buy some provisions from the innkeeper first, he decided. 

"I'll just find a dry spot somewhere, maybe check one of the abandoned houses near the village." Oh no.

"Don't be silly, Dolores. You'll stay with me. I have enough space for all,” Magda interrupted.

“But Magda, your gran…”

“Forget it. She’s gone and it’s all gone between you. You’ll stay at my place. Speaking of, Witcher can come too." Dolores placed her hand on Magda's arm, relief obvious on her still proud face.

"What?" Geralt wondered if this was the most common word he had ever said to Magda. She took him completely by surprise - again. 

"Come. My farm is large and I live alone, there's room for all." And like this, people might not talk too much, he thought. A woman living alone inviting a Witcher to stay would certainly raise more eyebrows and get more tongues wagging than the one giving shelter to an elderly homeless woman - and a Witcher at the same time. He thought he wouldn’t accept this invitation. But then his ribs complained. And his feet. And his joints. And even if it was going to be some dry hay in a barn, it would be better than his current available lodging. 

"Thank you. I'll pay you the inn's fee." 

"Don't insult me, Witcher.” She scoffed. “This is a gift of hospitality, which many have sadly forgotten around here. But not through fault of their own."

"I thank you," he repeated. "Let me return the favour then. Some food for us all, my treat." The women exchanged looks before Magda accepted. 

"We'll wait for you on the farm. Your horse needs some care." He blinked at the reminder. He always took care of Roach. And tonight she might sleep in a stable if they were lucky. Magda extended her hand, indicating a direction. "Past the blacksmith's house." He nodded. 

"See you soon." 

As he entered the inn to the accompaniment of drunken slurring and hiccups and barely passable music, he did not even wonder how he’d ended up getting that invitation. He’d noted her saying she lived alone, but that only added more questions about her. As he stood at the counter and waited for the innkeeper, he took out his newly fattened purse. The jungle of coins was a magic sound that drove all innkeepers and shopkeepers to attention. He took out a coin and flicked it with his fingers. It spun on the counter without slowing. That was when he realised. 

He was going to have to give Magda the grave hag's head as a gift.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think. :)


End file.
